As It Passes
by Defiatos the Happy
Summary: "It was only a matter of time" - For everything. It's just like any other day right? Just two words - "Merry Christmas."


This was written as a gift to **a ghost in schoolclothes** for the Camp Half-Blood Christmas Exchange.

A bit late for a Christmas exchange, and I've never really been one for writing happy stories, but I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Percy Jackson, the series, the books, the characters, or anything of that sort.

The fire illuminated the area warmly amidst the river bank.

How long had it been? The boy thought, pulling his aviator jacket closer around him. It was winter, and thus she was down here too. The flames cautiously licked the area it was in, the only other source of warmth by the dead river of oaths. How different would it have been if they had never met him in the first place?

Beside him was a small figurine propped up beside him, opposite the river. It was as silent as the boy whom he had belonged to.

The boy sighed and got up, adjusted his jacket, and picked up the figurine, taking a look at it before he pocketed it. He took one last cursory glance at the river, his eyes catching a few of the mismatched objects which floated down it – a basket of roses, wrapped gifts, a diploma, and a soggy box of pictures – before he left, letting the fire die out on its own, and into the shadows he ventured – through paths he lost count traveling.

The crackling of the fireplace died as its starter left – once more in silence.

It was a cold day. The snow was falling, softly, and in the shadows of the streets the boy appeared within an alleyway. It was best not the scare the mortals.

As he walked out of the alleyway, without looking up, he ran into a man who was passing on by, knocking a basket of roses out of his hands, and onto the snowy streets.

"Sorry," the boy apologized.

"No," The man started, giving the boy a weary smile, "It was an accident anyways right?" the man bent down to pick up the fallen roses, and accidentally pricked himself on the thorns.

A trickle of blood started to trace the length of his thumb.

"Silly me…"

"Let me help," the boy said, getting on his knees before being stopped by the man.

"I've got it, it's ok," He said, keeping the forced smile up as he finished up picking the roses and placing them in his basket, "besides, won't your family be wondering where you during this fine Christmas day?"

This time the boy was smiling, "No, I don't think they'd mind if I was out here."

"Well, take care of yourself," The man replied, leaving with his basket, his head turned towards the boy, "Oh, and Merry Christmas!"

The boy replied, "Merry Christmas," before he turned around to continue his walk down the street when he felt something familiar – the pull of death - he always hears it, but this time it was close. Very close.

There was the honk of a car, and as the boy turned around, it was done and over.

Red roses were splattered along the street, as a basket sailed across the sky and into the arms of a surprised pedestrian.

Silence was long gone now. The sound of clamoring people rose as a crowd formed around the scene.

An accident – that was what the driver claimed.

An ambulance was called.

The boy watched the scene for a bit, until he noticed a sight no one else would see. On his winged shoes, a man in a jogging outfit flew down and knelt beside body.

"It's time to go," The winged man said to the body, lifting up a faded image of the dead man.

There was the silent ringing of a phone on vibrate, but it went ignored. The dead man could only smile as his soul got up, but he noticed the boy and the smile fell slightly.

The winged man tugged again, and the soul of the deceased followed. The god left and continued on, even on this seemingly auspicious day, his job was never done, a path from their lives to the land of the dead - where their king and queen were present together, as it always is every six months.

The whirling of the ambulance rang through the air, and cops soon were on the streets, asking for witnesses as the medics attended to the body. They were too late.

The boy was gone, as fast as when he appeared. Too long in one place and it'd attract monsters to this already monstrous crowd.

It was empty - and silent.

The shadows of the forest grew closer to him, reaching out for him. He rubbed his cold hands together, his cool breath visible to him. He trudged along the snow-covered forest when his ADHD head caught something on the ground.

It was a wilted, frozen bed of roses. Curiosity took hold as he approached the flowerbed before a voice screeched at him.

"Stay away from my flowers!"

Instinctively he backed off, his hand going to the black sword hanging loosely at his waist.

A stout man stormed from a distance away from the flowers, a spade firmly gripped in his hands, swinging it as he approached.

"This is my only warning get away from my flowers or you'll regret it," He threatened.

"Come on dad," A young girl groaned, coming up behind her father, "The flowers are dead anyways, what's he going to do to them?"

"Dead?" The father asked, looking at the frozen roses, "What are you talking about? They're perfectly well, alive and healthy," then his gaze turned to the boy, "Now get away before I show you what this spade can do to that-" He stopped, dropping the spade, and gripped his chest, grunting a bit.

"Dad?" His daughter asked tentatively.

"I'll be fine," He grunted, "I just need my medication that's all. Nothing to worry about."

His daughter looked unconvinced, but a weary smile from his father seemed to calm things down.

A heart attack is coming, the boy thought, as the familiar was coming around he predicted.

He's seen it happen too many times.

He's heard it happen too many times.

He's felt it happen too many times.

It was only a matter of time.

The man used the spade as a crutch, leaning on it as he turned around, "You better-" He grimaced, as the boy came closer.

"Let me help," the boy sincerely asked, as he approached the man.

"I've got it," The man grunted, dragging himself back to the simple house nearby.

"You can't walk that far without your medication," the girl argued, "Just let him help."

"Fine," The man succumbed, "Just as long as he stays away from the roses."

The boy propped an arm across his arm, and started to help the man to his house. The man clutched his chest harder, and was gasping a bit for air.

It was only a matter of time.

They made it to the door, and the man fumbled in his pockets for a bit before producing a key, which was promptly taken by his daughter who then opened the door.

It was a simple room that they entered devoid of much, except for a table, three chairs, a stool, and a family photo on the table.

"There," The man pointed to an armchair which was next to the stool.

The stool had a bottle of medicine and a half-empty glass of water.

The boy led the man to the chair, to which he promptly sunk into his chair.

"How many?" the boy asked, opening the bottle.

"Two," The man wheezed.

The boy handed the man two pills and the glass of water. The man quickly drank and swallowed the pill and the glass of water.

"Millie," He called out to his daughter, "Come here."

"Yes dad?" she asked, coming over.

From under the armchair cushion, the man pulled out a box wrapped in red.

"Merry Christmas Millie," He said, before turning to the boy, and muttering quietly to him, "And you better stay away from my roses or else mother'll have something to say about it to you."

Mother? The boy thought puzzled.

Millie took the gift with a smile, and started to unwrap it right away.

The man gripped his chest, and wheezed harder, trying to get some air in his lungs and keep his eyes open before the inevitable came.

She opened the box and her eyes widened in delight and gave her father a hug. He smiled.

By then, the boy had started to leave, in fact, when Millie turned to say something to him, he had vanished.

Tick tock – another visit by the winged man.

Once more the boy was on the shores of that river of death, a fire that quietly warmed the boy.

Once more he was in silence. He tilted his head a bit and saw the boat full of souls clambering around pass, and the boat master took a cursory glance at his direction before continuing on with his job.

The cry of a hound – a friendly dog – caught his ears, and before he could react, a mass of flesh and fur collided with him and licked his face.

"You know the offer still stands," A familiar voice reminded him, its owner getting off the massive hound.

The boy cracked a smile as he got the dog off of him, "You know," he started, "I think I'll take you up on your offer."

"Merry Christmas cousin."

"You too."

As quickly as they arrived, the trio - the boy, the hound, and her owner - were gone.

"I told you he'd come," the hound owner grinned.

"Ha ha," one of his friends drolled, "As if he wouldn't Seaweed Brain."

The boy cracked another smile, and as he glanced around, he caught the sight of a few roses on the window sill before he joined in on the festivities.

It was only a matter of time.


End file.
